


Human Tradition

by ticktockclockwork



Series: Another Machine That Won't Stop [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-31
Updated: 2012-05-31
Packaged: 2017-11-06 11:08:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/418201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ticktockclockwork/pseuds/ticktockclockwork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One-shot set after the Epilogue for Another Machine That Won't Stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Human Tradition

“This is silly.”

“This is not silly. This is tradition.”

“It makes no logical sense.”

“Well most traditions don’t, Sherlock.”

“Then why are we continuing with this folly if it is illogical?”

“I can list you many illogical things that we do, Sherlock, and you don’t ever seem to complain about them.”

“No, but they involve our bed and far less clothing.”

“If you play your cards right, this tradition could end in our bed and with far less clothing.”

“… You didn’t mention that before.”

“Yes well, it was going to be a surprise. Now hush up and enjoy this.”

The grumble that emitted from John’s robotic lover was not the sound he was hoping for and so it was a chiding, pointed look he gave the other rather than the fond one he’d been wearing all day. Frankly, Sherlock’s attitude was growing offensive. John had put a lot of work into all of this and Sherlock was brushing it off as another silly human activity, like playing rugby or buying milk. Aside from the health improvements that John could attest to regular exercise and a healthy glass of calcium every day, Sherlock still seemed unconvinced and thus unmotivated to do either of those activities. The list of things-Sherlock-finds-tedious-and-thus-will-not-do was actually quite long. Frustratingly so.

But this would be the final straw. If John couldn’t have his rugby or his milk, then by God he was going to have this. Sighing heavily at his companion he threw down the newspaper he’d had in his hand and stood up. His chair scraped loudly against the linoleum and Sherlock flinched at the noise. He watched John adjust his jumper and then move to the kitchen to make some tea.

He was seeing the beginning of an avalanche here, just the very beginning, where there was still hope it would stop if he could make the right move next. But this whole charade, this whole evening made absolutely no sense to him. He did not understand the inflated latex; he did not understand the confectionaries or the paper along the ceiling. He did not understand the boxes on the couch or the abnormally festive music playing. This was so very human and despite all their best efforts Sherlock simply was not.

But it was clearly upsetting John tonight, like it didn’t on others. John was impossibly patient with Sherlock. He was kind and calm and he waited. He waited longer and quieter than any other person had before. Longer than Mycroft. Longer than his engineers. John was patient to a fault, it seemed, allowing Sherlock the time to learn, to mature, to grow. He taught him hate and anger, love and passion. He taught him what smiles were good for and when they were bad. He taught him the smiles that were more special than the others. He taught him how to sympathize. How to understand. And while Sherlock rarely followed those particular teachings, John was still pivotal in his acquiring that knowledge.

John was an immovable pillar in Sherlock’s life now and if one night of fancy was going to make him happy, then Sherlock would just have to humor him. God knows John did it enough for him. Licking his lips he stood, much quieter than John, and moved towards the kitchen as well. He hesitated, watching his companion, the man so brutally and obviously human. John, the man who died for him and still loved him regardless.

It was remarkable.

Moving up behind him he set a hand on John’s shoulder, careful. “I apologize.” He murmured and noted the tilt of John’s head, indicating that the other was listening. “I… do not understand what you are attempting to achieve with all of this but it is clearly very important to you. And so, I have made it important for me. Tonight is now priority in my queue.” John looked to him now, frowning.

“I don’t want this reaction to just be a data point in your list of things to do. I don’t want it to just… just blip away by tomorrow. This is something I want to do every year, for the both of us.”

“We will be doing this for you as well?” He sounded displeased with this realization.

“Yes, Sherlock. For me as well. And for Greg and Molly and Mycroft and for everyone. It’s what we do.”

“It’s what humans do.”

“No.” John closed his eyes and rubbed them, an action Sherlock had seen many times when John was trying to find the right words, the proper words that would be able to explain whatever was plaguing him to Sherlock. “No, it’s what… it’s just what people do. For the most part. It isn’t just a human thing. And I know for some people it’s not important, and often it’s dreaded, but for me it is important. And especially now that we’re… whatever we are.”

“Why is it more important now?”

“Because you mean a lot to me. And I hope I mean a lot to you,”

“John…”

“AND SO I want to celebrate things that are important. Like today. Because if today had never happened we never would have happened.”

Sherlock watched him closely, confused beyond all reason but very okay with it. John was a continuous source of confusion for Sherlock. He never failed to find all the many things Sherlock didn’t understand, present them simply and clearly, and then fit them into the right places in Sherlock’s mind. “Very well. If these dates are a way to mark our relationship then, yes, I will celebrate them.”

“Every year?”

“Every year. Provided one thing.”

Making deals with a robot that never forgot was a dangerous thing. “What one thing?”

“That each one ends in bed with far less clothing on.”

John slowly smiled at that and nodded. “I think I can manage that. Now go sit down.” Sherlock smiled in return and moved back to the table they were previously at. He sat down, placing his hands on either side of the plate in front of him and waited. The lights in the room dimmed and John came back, standing behind him. Running his rough fingers through Sherlock’s hair, he tipped the bots head back and leaned in for a deep kiss, smiling into it.

Their lips broke and they stayed there, for a moment too long but not long enough, before John reached forward, flicked to life his lighter, and lit the number 3 candle on the cake in front of them. Then, with a simple plop of the newspaper hat atop Sherlock’s head, John murmured, “Happy birthday Sherlock.”

With a roll of his eyes and a fond smirk, Sherlock blew out the light.

**Author's Note:**

> Original post + chapter graphic: [Click here](http://ticktockclockwork.tumblr.com/post/23782622531/this-is-silly-this-is-not-silly-this-is)


End file.
